Howdie(Scots) Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Yon chiel wi the parchment skin, mou like a thin bruise,
Fa'd hae thocht he'd worn a Maori Mask,
Mendit multi-storey lifts?
Daunced tae a Thai's queer pipe?

An her in the neuk, the littlin wi tubes in her wyme,
Shaved heid an feart-like een, ainns like twa wee spurtles...
Gowden butterflees that's prentit on her tights
Flee roon her crib at nicht gin she jist wills them.
A winnerfu ferlie!

I ken because they tell me. I am the howdie.
I am the listenin lug Tae the blate, the slichtit, the fleggit,
Aa them fa keep their stories deep inbye
Like beeriet treisur happit ower wi stoor.
I am the story-howdie.

My darg's tae ease the birth o ithers' tales,
Haudin on praise, hett towels o words,
Helpin tae lift the new-born oot, tae skelp life intae't
By settin it doon on the page. By screivin it.
Oh winnerfu tae hear sic tales takk life,
Oh hummlin, tae be hauns-on at the birthin.